


Since We're Still Ourselves

by DwarvenBeardSpores



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Animal Transformation, Anxiety, Banter, Canon-Typical Undressed Zolf, Cel is a rat, Cel's Red Panda, Dysphoria, Embarrassment, Episode 168 - It's OK But It's Complicated..., Episode 169 - Airships and Ground Rules, Flirting, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, HOT ZOLF RIGHTS, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Innuendo, Minor Crying, Multi, Other, Panic Attack, Teasing, The Tankard, Uncertain Relationship Dynamics, Zolf's Love of Campbells, but this is about the people who did not swap, dysmorphia, gender feelings, hold the alchemist, mentions of body-swapping, self-depreciation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28465827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DwarvenBeardSpores/pseuds/DwarvenBeardSpores
Summary: Zolf looks between Cel and Wilde and shakes his head. "Well. Glad you're both alright then. You weren't on deck with the others so I-- yeah. I'll leave you to it.""Zolf," Cel says. "You-- you're welcome to join us? I mean, if you're not too busy, I know there's a lot going on and-- and a lot of people who probably need things and--""We're drinking Cel's friends," Wilde explains, gesturing with his tankard-buddy. "Apparently they were into that sort of thing."-After the crew swaps bodies in the wild magic aurora, Cel tucks themself away to unwind and process. Wilde and Zolf help.
Relationships: Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom & Zolf Smith & Oscar Wilde, Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom/The Vengance, Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom/Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde, Jasper & Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom
Comments: 19
Kudos: 63





	Since We're Still Ourselves

**Author's Note:**

> LYDIA: "Cel does stand next to Oscar and nudge gently and sort of shrug like 'I think it's a bit of a shame too'."  
> ME: Time for some FEELS???? 
> 
> The answer was yes and then this fic took literal months and was very annoying to write, as it kept being more complicated than expected. I am very proud of it, and delighted that it is my 100th post on AO3!
> 
> Infinite thank you to HoloXam who betaed several different versions of this beefy fic and helped me keep track of all my threads and make sure everyone was behaving in character and sending me crying emojis. I would very likely still be wrangling drafts without your assistance and enthusiasm.
> 
> Also thank you to everyone who listened to me yammer on about the same vague fic things for ages, I do appreciate it.
> 
> Heads up that this is very body focused and if you don't want to read characters being uncomfortably aware of their own physicality, this is maybe not for you.
> 
> Working title: CelZolfWilde AAAAA

Cel stares at the tankard. It's not moving, well, not on its own. When Cel turns it in their hands it wobbles as expected, but there are no signs of life or sentience. Which means that either the tankard is still alive and Cel will never be able to tell, or it effectively died when they left the aurora and Cel has yet another friend to grieve. They cross their legs and lean back until their head clonks on the galley wall. 

"I'm not sure if you can hear me," they say, for something like the third time tonight.

The tankard still does not respond.

"And I do feel bad, continuing on the conversation when you can't answer, but, well, it seems better than an awkward silence?"

The responding silence is indeed awkward. Cel extends their legs and taps their heels on the floor.

"I mean, maybe it's good for you? I don't want to assume, but I-- I know back at Okinoshima sometimes things got to be kind of a lot and I would turn into an animal-- I like turning into animals-- and my assistant, Jasper, he would talk to me. And he didn't understand octopus or rat or rabbit or lobster or whatever I was that was smaller than a gnome, so I couldn't talk to  _ him _ , but he would talk anyway and it was-- it was nice." 

Cel sighs and tucks the tankard in the crook of their arm. Jasper had liked to hold them like that. And even though Cel was the old one, the experienced one, the one who was supposed to take care of  _ him,  _ Cel had liked being held.

They hope the tankard likes being held too.

"Look," they say. "I know I made a promise. And I-- I-- I do intend to keep it, I do! But with the weird body-swap situation on the ship right now, and-- and so many people temporarily struggling with their new bodies, I am in the position of being one of the most functional members of this crew, and I simply  _ cannot  _ afford to get drunk right now."

It is almost certainly Cel's imagination, or wishful thinking, or projection-- because they really would  _ like _ to get drunk-- that makes the tankard seem disappointed. 

They don't even  _ look  _ at the keg.

"I promise," they say. "I mean, I know I already did that. But I promise again, more specifically, that once there are enough people well enough to make sure the ship is safe, I will come back and I will get properly hammered. Okay buddy? Will that make you happy?"

It will not, because the tankard can no longer feel emotions. Probably. Maybe. Cel closes their eyes and sighs.

"I don't know," says a voice. Not the tankard. "I think you could get away with a small drink. You're off duty, yes? And with a cleric, a paladin,  _ and  _ a mage on board, I'm sure there's someone who could get you sober again if need be." 

Cel cracks an eye open and looks up. Oscar Wilde is standing in the doorway, fur coat on and face pink from the cold above decks. As they watch, he leans casually against the doorframe.

"Hello, Cel. Don't let me interrupt."

"No, you're-- you're not interrupting anything," Cel says. "I mean, I was just--" they gesture vaguely with their buddy. "What brings you here? Are-- are you here to talk potions? Do you want some grog? I think my little buddy here would be really happy if you wanted some grog."

Wilde raises an eyebrow. "I thought you  _ hadn't  _ been drinking."

Cel pulls the tankard into their chest and gives it a squeeze. "I haven't. This tankard is my friend, and it-- I don't actually know its pronouns, so-- they? They kept me company while everyone else was asleep. And while that may  _ sound  _ like I-- I-- I got confused and spent the whole time talking to inanimate objects, the objects  _ were  _ actually temporarily animate. They brought a note to Zolf, and tried to get me drunk, and displayed remarkable problem solving skills involving inter-object communication and also a straw."

Wilde blinks. "May I join you?"

"Sure! Of course, yes."

Wilde shrugs off his coat, folds it neatly, and sits on it as he joins Cel on the floor. He's wearing a soft green jumper underneath, paired with purple trousers. "What brings me here is that I heard talking," he says as he gets comfortable. "And while I did think it was unlikely I'd stumbled onto a tryst in the kitchen, I stopped to take a look. Old habits die hard." He glances pointedly between Cel and the tankard. "Unless I  _ have  _ found something interesting after all?"

The tankard does nothing. Cel laughs nervously. "What, you-- you think that I'm--"

He smirks. "I wouldn't be surprised if the ship loved you back." 

Cel's face heats. "I don't think that's it at all, I mean-- I certainly do care about the ship and--"

Wilde raises both eyebrows. "Cel and the  _ Vengeance _ , caught in a loving embrace…" 

"--and the sentient items  _ were _ very attentive to my needs while we were in the aurora, but--"

"Romance passed through," he glances pointedly at their hands, "cups, and tools…"

"-- that's a complicated and somewhat ridiculous proposition--"

"And the engines, of course. The two of you, miles in the air, depending on each other…"

"Not that I wouldn't value your interest!" Cel tells the tankard, flustered. "But I-- especially given the current communication barrier I don't think that's a  _ good _ idea and, um--"

"A crack team, protecting all our lives…"

"I mean we're trying, but whether or not we've protected anything is--"

"A proper relation _ ship,  _ if you will. Hm. Someone should write a book about this."

Cel gives a sort-of half-laugh. "Mr. Wilde I do not know if you are offending my new, currently non-communicative friends, but, um, maybe stop? To be clear, you're not offending  _ me _ on my  _ own  _ behalf but I-- it just feels a bit possibly insensitive."

Wilde leans back against the wall, smirk still in place. "If you insist."

"I do." Cel pulls their legs into their chest and stares at the tankard, chin resting on their knees. "I just-- I don't know if I did right by these new friends while they were alive, I mean, they did so much for me and I-- I don't want to take them for granted, even now they're-- well, they're probably dead now, but there's so much I don't understand…" They sigh. "And I miss them."

"Ah." They turn to see a pinched expression on Wilde's face. "In that case, should I leave you to it?"

Oh. Cel slumps. "Do-- do you have to?"

Wilde regards them carefully as they fidget with the tankard, then nods and settles back in. "To be perfectly honest, as exciting as it is to watch the others trip over themselves, their circle seems a little bit… exclusive." He lifts his chin, indicating the group above decks which, last Cel had seen, was concentrating very hard on figuring out together how to run the ship in swapped bodies.

"Yeah," Cel says. "It's weird, like-- I've done a lot of shape-changing, and had a lot of shape feelings, and I-- well I have some insights on just kind of general best practices, but I thought I was going to be able to relate a little bit better and there's still this-- this disconnect, and-- and it's not really  _ fair  _ that I'm, y'know, fine? So..." They gesture vaguely. There's a reason, well, several reasons they're down here talking to the cups.

"Hmmm." Wilde strokes his chin thoughtfully. One finger traces the lower edge of his scar. "I will take a drink from your friend, if you don't mind." 

"Of course!" This is much easier to discuss, and Cel leans over to keg-buddy and fills tankard-buddy with grog. On second thought, they fill a second tankard-buddy and keep the first one. "You made a-- a good point about sobering magic," they explain, passing the drink over. "So I-- well-- yes."

"Excellent." Wilde raises his tankard and takes a sip. Cel takes one of their own. It's a good choice. Strong and grounding and they feel like they're doing right by their friend, or friend's memory.

Wilde is watching them, and Cel watches right back, but he's very hard to read. There's something controlled in his face, but hard to predict, like the type of engine gauge that gives a lot of false readings for very specific problems.

"So Cel," Wilde says. "Earlier, you asked me which body I would most like to have swapped into."

"Azu." They sip their grog. "You wanted to loom."

"I still do." He raises an eyebrow. "Now I have a question back."

"Oh. And that would be--?"

He gives an unquestionably suggestive look. "Which member of the crew would you most like to have _ inside _ of you?"

Cel chuckles and raises their own eyebrows. "Oh! Easy. It'd have to be Mr. Smith."

From the look on Wilde's face, he had not been expecting that answer. Or maybe not that  _ easy  _ of an answer? Either way, it's a delightful expression. He clears his throat and glances between Cel and the grog, then leans forward with a pleased smirk. "Now that is a strong and considered choice. Care to elaborate?"

"Well," Cel says, "there are a  _ lot  _ of great people on the crew, don't get me wrong-- yourself included!-- but when it comes to who I-- I-- who I would trust with my body, well, Zolf has already proved himself pretty trustworthy, and-- and also it would be interesting to see what he thought of being tall?"

" _ Trustworthy, _ you say?"

"I think I know what you're getting at," Cel says. "And-- and I'm going to have to disappoint you, because while Zolf has definitely seen me naked, it was very much in the context of making sure I wasn't an infected monster."

"Ah." Wilde leans back again. "Yes, I'm aware of the procedure."

Cel drinks with one hand, and with the other, reaches into a pocket for something to tinker with . "And I-- it wasn't a very good introduction? I understand why it was necessary but in terms of bad first impressions, heh,  _ whoof _ . But I-- we had a talk about gender and pronouns and things like that and he was extremely professional and he's really been lovely since and I genuinely don't think he would be weird about, you know, my-- my-- my body."  Amid the scrap and half-finished gadgets and doodads their hand closes around the red panda toy they'd won at the village fete. It sparks against their fingers as they pull it into their lap.

"You've considered, of course, the risk that he'd throw all your clothes overboard and walk around only in underwear."

Cel laughs. They also sort of cringe but mostly they laugh. "That is an extremely high risk  _ now,  _ but not if, I-- I mean you can never  _ tell _ but I-- he'd be respectful of that sort of thing, you know?" 

"You may be right." Wilde's lips purse as he hums in disappointment. "That is a slightly more practical answer than I was expecting from you, Cel." 

Cel lets their eyebrows dance, and it's only a little forced. "Oh believe me," they say. "I considered the question from  _ every _ angle."

There's the start of a smile. "Did you now?"

"Of course. Did you want to compare notes?" It's easier to push the question back to Wilde than to talk about how much they  _ do  _ trust Zolf, how much they  _ would  _ value any type of increased... intimacy? with him. Especially to Wilde who, well, Cel's seen the way he and Zolf look at each other. And they're happy about it, it's adorable. Also slightly complicated, but mostly adorable.  Cel bites their lip. There has  _ got  _ to be a better way to manipulate the strength of the current through the red panda, and also make the eyes glow. They feel around in another pocket for a tiny pair of pliers. " You were going to say Zolf too, weren't you?"

"When you put it that way, you're just begging for me to deny it."

"And are you going to?"  Cel plucks at the wires embedded in their toy.

Wilde smirks. "Really, Cel? If nothing else, the opportunity to tease him about it would be simply too good to pass up.  _ Think _ of the innuendo."

"I mean, you made the innuendo pretty clear from the beginning." Cel grins. "And how would he-- how do you expect him to take that teasing? He's going to make that face, y'know, that Zolf does, the-- the grumpy flustered one?"  They place the red panda on their knee  and rest their chin in their hand, trying to imagine what that expression would look like with Wilde's cheekbones, his narrow eyebrows, his soft mouth.

Wilde presses a finger to his lips, looks towards the doorway, and determines that no one's coming in. Then he turns back to Cel and pouts, bringing his eyebrows down and setting his jaw, giving a twist to his lips that looks like it doesn't quite know whether it wants to smile or grimace. His face might be stiff around his scar, but he gets the feel of it exactly right.

Cel lets out a surprised bark of laughter. "Okay," they say, and clap a hand over their mouth. "Okay I see it, you've got it." Wilde gives a very Zolf-like huff and they laugh harder. "Oh that's amazing!"

"I'd like to see  _ you _ try," says Wilde, and suddenly he's himself again, a pleased smile on his face. "Winner gets dibs on the next swap."

Something giddy and a little desperate makes itself at home in Cel's chest. "Oh, oh yes, I-- I don't know if I'll be any good, facial expressions are-- they're not exactly intuitive, but uh--" 

"Cel," says Wilde. "You are very possibly one of the most expressive people I know. And I've met Hamid."

"No," says Cel, swallowing their laughter. "No, I know that, it's--  _ I  _ can do them, but understanding other people's is-- I've put a lot of work in, y'know? And I still get it wrong sometimes which is why I like to ask. It's like running a diagnostic on a- a tempermental machine, except instead of an explosion you might end up with an insult, or hurt feelings, or-- or just a complete misunderstanding, and I sometimes think it would be easier if it was culturally appropriate to touch the-- the face machinery and--" pull it back, Cel, this is getting into weird territory. "But also I don't think wild magic cares much about dibs."

"Hmm." Wilde's face is somehow more impassive than it's been.

"Like if I take this bet," Cel says, " _ I'd _ honor it but I can't promise a natural phenomenon can."

"Noted." He nods. "I'd still like to see your attempt."

"Of course." Cel grins. "Yes, right. You know, with expressions, when you're not doing a Zolf, you can be especially difficult to read."

He gives a small smile. "Thank you."

"Okay," says Cel. "Okay." They manage another drink without giggling and hook the pliers on the front of their overalls and steel their face into a disapproving Zolf look.

"Hmmm." Wilde looks them over critically. "Eyebrows lower." He nods as Cel tries it. "You don't need to scrunch the nose so much, it's all in the brow and the jaw."

"Have-- have you practiced this?"

Wilde grins. "No, I've just seen this look on his face a lot the past year and a half. It's almost as though he thinks I'm very irritating or something."

Cel breaks the expression by laughing again. "I-- I have  _ no  _ idea why." It's clear why Zolf was so glad to see Wilde happy. It suits him.

"Come on. One more try."

Cel screws up their face, trying to focus on the brows and the jaw. 

Wilde tuts and leans in. "Almost there," he says, and suddenly his fingers are on their chin and their cheeks, pulling their jaw just a bit forward.

Cel makes a startled noise. His fingers are soft, cold, and just firm enough to shift Cel's face how he wants it. 

He shakes his head, smiling. "Oh, Cel. Now you've got the mouth right and the rest of the expression is completely gone." He lets go and sits back, and Cel tries to figure out what any other part of their body is doing. Not scowling, that's for sure. Flushed? Yes. And their eyebrows have gone  _ way _ out of range.

"I-- you make it very difficult to-- to-- to focus," they say. "You were-- you-- you did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"The stakes were high," he says, and drinks his grog. "We had a bet."

Cel is about to retort when they're interrupted by an awkwardly cleared throat in the doorway. 

"What nonsense are you getting up to now?" says Zolf. He's scowling. It's a familiar, amused scowl.

Cel glances at Wilde and lets out an involuntary squeak of laughter. 

Zolf shoots them a look, then glares at Wilde. "Right. Being a bother, then. Good job."

Wilde rests his chin on one hand and smiles up at Zolf. "Hardly, but don't ask me to prove it. I'm not one to kiss and tell."

Cel's ear heats. They  pick up the red panda, wiggling its tail between their fingers.

"First, we both know that's not true. Second, have you been  _ kissing Cel? _ "

Wilde properly starts laughing.

"No-- no, that was not-- We were not kissing," Cel explains in a rush. "He was close enough, it really wouldn't have taken much, but he was just-- he-- he was adjusting my face, and-- and now that I  _ say  _ that it sounds  _ significantly _ less believable than I expected, but it  _ is _ the truth."

Zolf rubs his face and sighs. "Right," he says. "Stupid question."

"And if I had been?" Wilde asks, maybe baiting him? Although Cel's not actually sure what the trap is.

"It would've been none of my business." Zolf looks between Cel and Wilde and shakes his head. "Well. Glad you're both alright then. You weren't on deck with the others so I-- yeah. I'll leave you to it."

"Zolf," Cel says. "You-- you're welcome to join us? I mean, if you're not too busy, I know there's a lot going on and-- and a lot of people who probably need things and--" 

"We're drinking Cel's friends," Wilde explains, gesturing with his tankard-buddy. "Apparently they were into that sort of thing."

"Right," Zolf says. "Ship was alive and wanted you to drink from it. Bits of it. The cup bits. Not the rope."

"Not the rope," Cel agrees, unreasonably fond that he remembered. "Not the grog either, I don't think? I mean the grog wasn't alive. Just the containers. And the rag. And I-- I probably should have had more to drink, but it seemed like a-- a bad idea at the time, and-- and I can only  _ assume  _ that's what they still want of me, and--"

Zolf puts his hands on his hips and stretches his back. "Yeah, that was weird."

"Oh." They bounce the toy in their lap and stare into its non-sparking eyes.  Have they ever been a red panda? Surely they've been a red panda before.

"Not you," Zolf clarifies quickly. "Just. The ship."

"The ship," Cel says, and something in their chest loosens, just a bit. "It  _ was  _ weird. I mean, it was also good? But I don't actually know what-- what to think, and it seems so much less relevant  _ now,  _ in comparison to everything else that's happened but-- but it was  _ really  _ weird, and I don't say that lightly--"

"And it's been a very long few days," Wilde finishes

"Right about that," Zolf says. He looks between Cel and Wilde again and lets out a breath. "Yeah, alright, then. Got three people learning the wheel upstairs, so pass me, er, a friend?"

Cel gets Zolf a drink, and tops off their own and Wilde's. Zolf shrugs off his coat and settles himself on the floor and rubs his thighs. As is frequently the case, he's not wearing a proper shirt underneath, just his long underwear, which neither hide nor accentuate the thick curves of his body, the magic glow of his legs above the lip of his boots. He seems comfortable. 

Cel unhooks the pliers from their front and pokes at the toy again. They can make the voltage higher, and that's excellent, but the aesthetics are still proving a problem… maybe they can ask Sassraa later? If she would even want to help from inside the Captain's body. Maybe Cel should wait. Or just not ask. They dig in their pockets for more parts.

Zolf takes off his boots and rubs circles where his flesh legs meet his metal ones. Wilde continues to drink. 

The three sit in silence that is maybe comfortable. 

But maybe not.

Cel can't actually tell.

Fuck.

"Who would  _ you  _ want to swap with, Zolf?" they ask, almost without meaning to. "If-- if you'd been one of the ones who-- who switched bodies?"

Zolf gives them a disgruntled look, different from the face Wilde had done. The eyebrows are more confused-looking, maybe, the quirk of the mouth another sort of grumpy. It's a good face, it suits him, even if Cel feels guilty for asking, even if they don't know what all the nuances mean.

**** "I wouldn't," Zolf says.

"Oh, Zolf," Wilde says. "That's no fun."

"Well I wouldn't! It's taken me long enough to get used to this one, and, I dunno, it's mine? I don't want to have to learn it over again, and I don't want anyone else to have to either."

"Ah," says Cel.  They put the toy down again and take a drink and think that over.

Wilde is quiet beside them. 

"I can't-- I mean, I'm not saying you're wrong, Zolf, I couldn't say that, I just-- it's a bit baffling to me really? I tend to see my body-- the body I'm in-- as more of a-- a tool? And tools can be swapped out depending on their purpose, and sometimes, you know, it's just the right one for the job and-- and sometimes you've misplaced the right one, or you never had it in the first place, or it's just  _ completely  _ unavailable and-- and that's  _ frustrating  _ but it's-- and you don't want to lend it to just anyone because it  _ does _ mean something, and it would mean something to them too? But I feel like-- for me it wouldn't necessarily be  _ more  _ frustrating if the default tool was-- was something else? Especially if it was good at engineering."

There is another long silence. Zolf strokes his beard. Cel rubs their forearms. Their skin feels tight.

"Right," says Zolf. "Yeah, no, I don't get that at all. But thanks, I guess? For sharing?"

Cel shrugs and stares into their grog. What would it feel like to be a tankard? "I mean, thank  _ you. _ "

"Well if you ever  _ did  _ want to be inside someone else, Zolf," Wilde says, raising an eyebrow. "My body is always waiting."

Zolf snorts.

Wilde smirks.

Cel feels the need to clarify, since Wilde won't. "I know it's a joke and that is  _ definitely  _ on purpose but he-- he does mean it. We were talking, if-- if he had to pick who swapped into him--"

"He wouldn't pick me." Zolf crosses his arms and gives Wilde a stern look. "If he said that, he was lying. He'd pick someone who can't cast. Give us the advantage."

Even Cel, even Zolf probably, can see the moment Wilde's face closes off, and the teasing smile becomes something pleasantly false. Can see his fingers twitch near his ankles, where the anti-magic cuffs are. "Ah," says Wilde. "Well then. Now that I've been thoroughly found out, what other lovely games should we play?"

"Shit," says Zolf. "Wilde."

"I'm sure  _ you've _ got wonderful ideas to cheer us up." 

Zolf runs a hand over his eyes. "Look, I'm-- you're right, that was not okay."

"To divert Cel from the multiple crises at hand."

"I mean," Cel begins. "I'm not-- if there is anybody having a  _ crisis  _ they are-- are above decks, and--"

"Wilde!" Zolf snaps. "I'm sorry. Alright? I shouldnt'a said that. You can give whatever answer you want. I didn't mean to-- I knew better."

Wilde closes his mouth and eyes Zolf cautiously. "You did," he says finally.

"Sorry," says Zolf. "I. Everything's a bit weird. And you could do better'n me, anyway." He sips his grog and gives Wilde a cautious look in return. "I wouldn't even  _ try _ taking care of your hair."

Wilde's mouth twitches upwards. "I wouldn't ask that of you," he says slowly. "No matter how much it pained me."

"You say that  _ now _ ," says Zolf. 

They seem to be good. Are they good?

Cel closes their eyes. They're feeling suddenly dizzy and they don't know why. They can handle arguments, usually, and it's unlikely to be the grog-- they haven't had much-- unless the wild magic  _ did  _ something to it in which case-- in which case it's their own fault, it's all their own fault, and maybe they're not dizzy  _ enough,  _ really...

"Do you really think anyone else here could do hair to my standards? Hamid would make a valiant effort, I suppose, but without his spells…" Wilde tsks. "Anyway, I'm locked in to you, now. I beat Cel in a wager."

"Cel?" Zolf says. "Why would Cel care?"

"Oh, Zolf," says Wilde.

"I-- I mean--" Cel opens their eyes. Zolf is making a confused face that they have no idea how to interpret, let alone mimic, let alone respond to. "I mean it makes  _ sense _ , I-- if I-- if I ended up in a kobold body or-- or anything really, I-- I mean you're very--" They glance at Wilde because their words aren't doing what they're supposed to, and he just raises an eyebrow back. "It would be weird to hear my voice be all gruff and straightforward but I-- but I wouldn't  _ mind  _ it? I'd actually, um--"

"Cel," Zolf says. "I got it."

Cel stops. "Right," they say. "Sorry?"

"It's. It's fine?" Zolf rubs his face. "I dunno  _ why _ , but, uh, sure. Great."

"I-- you're-- you're a good guy, Zolf."

Zolf takes a long drink.

It's definitely an uncomfortable silence this time.

Cel drains their cup. The dizziness hasn't gone away, and they're not a kobold and that's not fair to everyone else and it's a little bit not fair to  _ them,  _ but mostly the others because Cel  _ should  _ be the one shouldering the consequences because it was  _ their  _ box that didn't work, and is it even appropriate to want to live in someone's body like that? Would Sassraa take offense, or Driaak? Jasper knows Cel, knows when they mean well even if they're not making any sense, but he's not here and Cel doesn't know how to sort through these things in ways that won't make Zolf and Wilde and themself uncomfortable. Everything seems too  _ close  _ somehow, and Zolf and Wilde are so  _ good _ and so  _ lovely  _ and-- and  _ competent _ , and it's really kind of unfair that they're both here at once, now, while Cel can't stop being aware of their own skin and their limbs and their  _ everything.  _ And  _ that _ is a dangerous path to go down because the longer they stew in their own physical form, the more they're tempted by the idea of being a brain in an orb in a machine in a facility, and they're  _ not  _ like Shoin, they're  _ not,  _ they don't even want that, they just think about the brorb sometimes, about what it would feel like, even if their own brain can't protect their friends and can barely even have a normal conversation. And whatever these feelings are they've been building and Cel is not sure how much they've ignored as they grew and how much is genuinely a surprise but blood is rushing in their ears and their lungs are doing something they shouldn't and--

"--and guys?" they say, because it's still, just barely, easier saying something than not, even if it doesn't make things better. "Just to be clear, this-- this isn't you, I just-- I'm okay, I'm sorry, I don't mean to make this weirder, I just need to--"

And then they turn into a rat.

The empty tankard falls to the ground, as do the scraps and tools from Cel's lap. Their body shrinks inward, grows fur and a tail, becomes  _ so _ much better at hearing and smelling and climbing. They're more balanced in this shape, faster, compact and stable. Even while unsteady they can scamper into the tankard and curl up tight. Their tiny heart skitters in their chest, fast and frantic. In a half-elf it might feel like panic, it  _ did  _ feel like panic, but it's really just how rat hearts are. Nothing to worry about.

Their whiskers twitch. The tankard is sticky and smells strongly of grog, leaves damp spots in their fur, but that's okay. It's safe, and when they press against the back of the cup it's almost like their friend is holding them.

"Shit," Zolf says from far away. "Cel?"

Outside the tankard, people shuffle. Somebody sighs. Cel's ears quiver. It's good, probably, that they can't see anyone's face, see Zolf and Wilde confused or irritated or judgy or upset even though Cel had said it was fine, even though it  _ is  _ fine.

"It okay if we stay?" Zolf says, after several moments. "Don't wanna crowd you or anything."

Cel curls tighter and rocks the tankard slightly in acknowledgement, hoping he'll notice that, at least. They won't ask him to stay. They don't want to be alone.

There's another shuffle and some mumbling, and then something large and dark appears at the lip of the tankard. Not trapping them in, but near enough that Cel can sniff it without leaving their friend.

It's soft and furry, smells like ink and perfume.

Wilde's coat.

"You're welcome to it, If you feel like a slightly more comfortable hiding spot," Wilde says. "It does wonders when I'm trying to lay low."

Zolf scoffs. "Might be good for Cel, but it makes  _ you  _ extremely obvious."

"Hmm," says Wilde. "Does it? I hadn't noticed."

Cel is a rat, and rats are curious, and it's  _ fine  _ to be curious, it's not overbearing or inappropriate, it's-- it's fine. They give the tankard a quick nudge of affection before scampering into the coat sleeve and curling up in the heavy warmth that smells overwhelmingly of Wilde, with richer layers of scent than they'd initially thought. Inside it's dark, the coat a second skin that muffles everything into almost silence. Cel crouches, tense, feeling somehow both pressed upon and alone. "Oh no," they mutter. "Ohhh no. They could leave, Cel, both of them could leave while you're in here and you might not even notice, and that is entirely reasonable of them but are you going to be able to handle the surprise?"

They are grateful, of course they are. But a coat, even this coat, even one so personably impersonal, is not what they want  _ at all. _

They peek out the collar. Zolf and Wilde are still on the floor, sipping grog and waiting. Zolf glances at them, then looks away as though he hadn't seen.

Cel's skin prickles. Their fur puffs.

It's fine. Zolf is... safe. It's fine.

Cel runs for Zolf, tail keeping them steady. They patter over the tiny pliers that are too big for rat-feet to hold, and brush by the red panda that's almost the same size as they are, and pause beside his knee. Zolf stares down.

"Hey Cel." His voice is either particularly soft or it just sounds that way because of the new angle and the new ears. "Uh. Need something?"

"No," Cel says, and it's almost easy, they've been a rat enough times, they can adjust to the snout and the teeth and the tiny voice, no matter how frantic they sound. "No, I just, I thought I'd be here? Instead? I-- I'm fine. I was kind of wondering-- no, nevermind. Do you like the fur? It's nice to-- to have fur sometimes."

Zolf gives them a blank look. "Right."

Oh. He doesn't speak rat. They're not even totally sure if he  _ likes  _ rats. 

"I think they want you to pick them up," WIlde says.

Cel's heart skips.

"Cel?"

"I mean," says Cel, uselessly, not sure  _ what _ it is they want, still a rat. "That could be very nice if you-- if you  _ wanted  _ to, I mean, I'm not  _ asking  _ for it and I'm not sure how Mr. Wilde came to that conclusion but-- I mean from a purely objective sense you are probably good at picking people up and--"

" _ Oh, _ " Zolf says. "Right! Okay?"

He lowers his hands, and Cel hesitates, looks at him, looks at Wilde who nods, then at Zolf again. They scramble up. Zolf's palms are warm and solid and gentle, and Cel doesn't stay there long before scampering up his arm and curling up in the crook of his elbow. Zolf shifts around them, pressing them gently against his body. He smells like salt-- not the same as the ocean by Okinoshima, but kitchen salt, or sweat, or maybe something that's just  _ him-- _ and warm spices and the clear, pine-y air above deck. Things that were present in the closeness of Wilde's coat. Very faintly, they can smell traces of Wilde on him as well.

"Huh," he says. "Yeah, good, I hope it's. Comfortable?"

It's different from being held by Jasper. Zolf's arms are bigger, for one thing, stronger, the angles thicker, softer. It  _ is  _ comfortable. His voice is deep when he talks, and it sinks right through Cel's tiny bones, even though he doesn't talk  _ much _ , and he doesn't place a familiar hand-- or rather, a less familiar but also lovely hand-- on Cel's back as soon as they've wriggled into place.

"Now what?" says Zolf.

Cel doesn't have an answer. Their whiskers twitch against his arm. 

"You're shaking," he says.

Are they? Oh. So they are.

"They'll be all right," Wilde says. "You're very _ trustworthy _ ." Cel makes a small awkward squeak that, hopefully, no one hears.

Zolf shrugs, squishing Cel slightly. Whether he means it to or not, it helps with the shaking. Like he's pressing their skin into place. "Dunno about that," he says. "But make yourself at home, I guess?"

"Don't mind if I do," Wilde says, and in a move that looks oddly graceful even from Cel's angle, leans back against a barrel and extends his legs onto Zolf's lap. His cuffs clank dully as he crosses his ankles.

Zolf huffs. "Wasn't talking to you." His chest swells against Cel's side as he takes a breath and rests a hand on Wilde's calf.

"You say that as though I'm in the habit of waiting for an invitation."

"Took you long enough, then."

Cel can mostly see beard, not face, but they think the gruffness of his tone is tempered with a grudging smile.

It's not the time for being smug and really Cel has very little to feel smug about, but they  _ knew _ . They  _ knew  _ there was something there, a softness, a fitting-together, a stored potential, maybe a future reaction. It's very cute. They both deserve it. Cel squirms deeper into the crook of Zolf's arm.

He shifts around them. "You good there, Cel?"

"I… yes? I don't know. I mean, I don't want to interrupt, it's just, this feels kind of, of odd, with you not being Jasper, and it's  _ fine  _ that you're not? I don't want you to be, but the position is just, it's-- I'd rather it be  _ you _ ? Could I-- could I try something else? That's less familiar maybe." He can't understand them, but he shrugs and lets them scurry up his arm, tiny toes clinging to the sleeves of his underwear. They perch on his shoulder, survey the scene, and then dart down his chest and under his beard.

It feels close, safe. Zolf's beard is heavy and thick. Cel presses themselves against his soft chest, just above the curve of his belly. 

"Oh," he says. "Uh. Okay?"

Cel clings.

"Yeah," Zolf says. "Good." Suddenly his hand is on Cel's back and he rubs his thumb across their fur. His heartbeat pulses just under his skin. 

"Ah, yes, if-- if you're sure it's okay then-- yes, good. I think it's good too." Cel sighs, almost letting themself relax.

"Shut up," Zolf says gruffly, sounding almost pleased.

Or not. They tense again. They should leave. They should never have-- 

Then Wilde answers, "I didn't say a  _ word _ ," and Zolf presses gently between their shoulderblades and Cel stays.

"Close enough," says Zolf.

Cel can hear the smirk as Wilde says, "I'm just glad to see Cel getting some tail."

Zolf snorts.

Cel curls up against his palm and closes their eyes. Their breath starts to fall into rhythm with the sound of his heart. This time when silence falls, they don't even try to fill it, just feel the swell of Zolf's belly as he breathes.

It might be a few moments or several minutes before the others start talking again. It's easy to let words rumble through them as Zolf says, "you still got  _ Passion of the Son  _ in your cabin?"

And Wilde answers, "don't tell me you want it back."

Cel doesn't have to know anything, or say anything, or do anything. They can just listen and be a rat.

"Azu's almost done with the first one," Zolf says. "Thought I might offer her the sequel."

"Mmm. In that case, I suppose I can part from it. Has she gotten to the party yet?"

"Just finished it before, y'know. All this happened. Hasn't got to the bit about Trelane."

"Ah. She's in for a surprise, then."

Cel only cracks their eyes open when they hear Wilde shrugging his coat back on. They peek around the edge of Zolf's beard.

"Cold?" Zolf says.

"Something like that," says Wilde.

It  _ is _ a very obvious coat, probably fun to wear as a human or a half-elf. Wilde presses the fur collar against his face. It covers his scar. It covers most of him except his long legs, swallowing his body until he seems more coat than man.

Cel gives him the courtesy of believing it. They wish they could teach him how to be a rat too. Or something bigger. Whatever he wanted.

"And the bit with Hannah on the sofa?" Zolf says, and Cel does not know that bit so they settle back in and just hold on to the sound of his voice.

And then suddenly they're  _ not  _ a rat.

Nine minutes of spell are apparently up. Fur melts back into skin, their bones expand, and then it's half-elf Cel curled onto Zolf's lap.

They squeak. Zolf swears. Wilde laughs. 

There is significantly more Cel than there is lap, and that is too much Cel. "Sorry." They try to scramble away, limbs awkwardly long. "Sorry, I didn't-- I wasn't keeping track I-- I'll just--"

Then Zolf's hand is on their ribs, pressing gently, encouraging them to stay. "Cel. It's okay."

"Nooo, no no no no no, I mean, no offense to you Mr. Smith, I-- I appreciate what you did and I-- and it's not that I don't  _ like  _ the idea but I-- I hardly deserve it and this isn't what you agreed to and I can't ask you--" 

"Look," Zolf says. "If you wanna go, go. If you wanna stay, stay. Alright? It's fine." 

Cel stills. Looks at his other hand, thick and steady, supporting their knees. Looks at his face.

He means it.

"I-- I-- I can be a rat again, if that's-- Or a different animal?" 

"If you want. But. You'd just turn back in a few minutes, yeah?"

Cel gives a nervous laugh. "I mean, yes, that's-- that's very much the problem."

"So this is fine. Less… startlin', anyway." He runs his hand down their side. Cel chews on their lip. They don't exactly commit, but they don't leave his lap either. 

Wilde grunts as he extracts his legs from underneath them, and they're about to apologize for that too, but he tuts and says "really, Cel. Let him have this."

"Let-- I'm sorry, what?"

_ "Wilde, _ " Zolf snaps, and when Cel looks, he's doing a variation of the flustered-disgruntled face again, but this time there's a flush to his cheeks and he's not quite meeting Cel's eyes. It's  _ such  _ a good face. 

_ "He doesn't like to ask either," _ Wilde says in a loud whisper. He winks.

"Um," says Cel. 

"You're a menace," Zolf says. "That's Wilde, not you, Cel. It's. Look, whatever you need, yeah?" As grumpy as he is, he rubs their side, and they can feel it through their overalls and something like three shirts. They wonder what he can feel, what he remembers. Their squishy flesh, the burns and scars in their skin, the overall Cel shape. It's not always a bad shape. Mostly it's perfectly adequate. It can just be so much.

Slowly, carefully, they lean their head on his shoulder. Zolf makes an approving noise and holds them closer. Cel can still feel him breathing, and this time they have the lungs to try and match his breaths. They raise a cautious hand to his face and trace the line where his beard meets his soft cheeks, where his blush heats their fingertips. His muscles twitch different types of grumpy and then relax as Zolf lets out a soft sigh and closes his eyes.

It's almost worth not having the tail. 

There are vague sounds of Wilde shuffling around the room. Cel doesn't look until he nudges their shoulder. "Cel." 

"Mmm?" They raise their head. "What--?"

Wilde smirks and passes them an empty tankard-buddy. "Can't leave out your first lover."

"What," says Zolf.

Cel clutches their friend close against their chest. "It's not my-- my  _ first _ \-- but thanks? Um. Thanks."

"I'd give you the animal, too, but it's doing  _ very  _ interesting things to my hands." Wilde turns the red panda over and raises an intrigued eyebrow.

"That-- that's the electricity. Can turn it off by squeezing the ear. Turn it up with the other ear. I  _ think _ it's the  _ left  _ that--"

"I'll keep it as-is, thanks."

Cel gives a little smile into the tankard.

Zolf rubs a hand along their back.

"Mmm," says Wilde. "But I  _ can _ give you this, if you think it might fit better now?" Before Cel can react, his coat is around their shoulders, over Zolf's hand. It smells good, like ink and perfume and a little bit of Zolf. It lets them be a coat.

"It-- it does," Cel says, very quietly, into the fur. "Um, but if you're cold, I-- I don't--"

"Shh," says Wilde, and places a light finger to their lips. "I'm fine."

Cel blinks, and presses their face against Zolf's neck to hide whatever could possibly be displayed on their face. They might cry on him a little, but Zolf doesn't stop rubbing their back. Wilde settles in against Zolf's other shoulder, brushing Cel's legs as he leans in. Aside from the shuffling, from Cel sniffing, it's quiet.

"Could you, um, keep talking?" Cel whispers into Zolf's skin. "It's-- books are fine. Or anything. Or if you didn't want to I could--"

"Oh! No, I can-- uh." Zolf squeezes them. "I can do books."

"Please do," says Wilde.

Zolf clears his throat. "Yeah. So. What-- what would you like to hear?"

"Tell them about  _ Passion of the Son, _ " Wilde says. "The second one."

"You just wanna hear me talk about the cove scene."

"Maybe." Wilde runs a finger down Cel's shin. "You do have  _ so  _ many opinions. And there's a shark."

"I like sharks," Cel mumbles.

"Right," says Zolf. "Okay. So.  _ Passion of the Son,  _ it's a sequel, right? To  _ Passion of the Sun,  _ with a u."

"Which is not as good as  _ Seven Nights _ ." 

"Yes it is, shut up, Wilde. An' you might think there's no way a sequel could live up to arguably the greatest romance of all time, but that's the thing, right? It doesn't try to. Yeah, it's got the same world and a lot of insight into the first book, but, uh, it's really experimental. Like, the cove scene, obviously, but before that there's this bit with Jamie and Lucianne and Ryland in the attic…"

Zolf keeps going. Cel's not sure the last time they've heard him so eager. They run their fingers through his beard and close their eyes. Their skin settles mostly into place.

Pressed against their sternum, the tankard is still. 

Somehow, it seems pleased.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to know what you thought. 
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr as dwarven-beard-spores and twitter as @beardspores.
> 
> And hey, best vibes for 2021, dear readers!


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